


Counting the Minutes

by Frea_O



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Trains, Travel, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity and Laurel take a vacation. Or rather: Felicity and Laurel are stuck on a train for four days (that's 5760 minutes or 345600 seconds) without so much as a phone to keep them connected to the outside world, and they just have to deal. Which they do surprisingly well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Frissy for the dream that inspired this and Kaleidoscopes and Carousels for being the best cheerleader.

“This is absurd. I have a jet.”

Laurel doesn’t look up from her magazine. “So you’ve said.”

“Just saying, we could be in Coast City within four hours. Not four days.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“We’re going at four percent the speed of the plane.”

Laurel turns the page of her magazine, which Felicity takes as an invitation to do a bunch of complex math in her head, informing Laurel of all the various speeds and ratios regarding their destination. And when that doesn’t faze her friend, she lists all the activities they could be getting up to in the wasted time. Felicity goes on and on until she realizes several things: Laurel isn’t actually reading, but is looking at the rather masculine watch she always wears, and the train is moving.

“You’re timing my rant, aren’t you?” she asks, puffing up her chest in indignation.

“Thirteen minutes and fifty-two seconds. Three more seconds and you would’ve beat the time Thea asked you about Windows 10.” Laurel regretfully hits the stop button on her watch.

“Well, you threw our phones out, so it’s not like you can tell her she’s still winning,” Felicity says, the fight draining out of her.

“I’m sure over the next 5760 minutes we’ll be spending together, you’ll have plenty of time to beat that record. Well,” and Laurel looks at her watch, “5746 minutes now. Don’t you feel better?”

“I dislike you,” Felicity says, which is not something somebody on a cross-country train-ride/honeymoon should be saying. Even if the honeymoon is fake. Even if they’re only doing this because it’s a good way to hide in plain sight.

“Good thing you only have 5745 minutes of me left.”

“This is going to be the longest I’ve ever gone without a computer,” Felicity says.

A book of crossword puzzles lands in her lap. “I brought plenty for you to do.”

+

She knows she should be more nervous about the train ride itself, given how many times she’s seen trains to and from Star City blow up, but really, Felicity’s more annoyed than anything. Another encounter with Cluemaster has left the team shaken, which would be fine if he had anybody but Felicity in his sights. Too many of their safe-houses have been breached, so Thea offered up another solution: undercover on a romantic getaway cross-country on a train, no cell phones, no computers, no digital footprint. Nobody would suspect any of them of taking that option.

Except that there was no way Felicity was going to do _anything_ romantic where Oliver Queen is concerned, and she wasn’t taking Diggle away from his daughter and his newborn son. And Thea was busy with her new bar.

“I’ll do it,” Laurel had said.

The others had looked at her like she’d grown not only a second head, but a third one as well, and the third one was singing opera.

“She’s good at fighting, but she still needs a bodyguard and backup, and I haven’t taken a vacation from work in months. A long train ride sounds kind of nice, actually.”

“We’d be on a fake honeymoon,” Felicity had said. “Which means they’d think we’re, you know, _together_. And why can’t we fly?”

“The goal is to keep you off the radar and moving,” Oliver had said. He hadn’t looked precisely happy about the idea, but he also hadn’t immediately said no, which meant he clearly thought the train ride plan had some merit to it.

Which was why she’s sitting in a compartment where there’s only one bed watching her friend actually relax like this is a vacation and not them avoiding yet another bad guy who wants to kill her.

She’s doing her _nails_ , for god’s sake.

“I can do yours, too,” Laurel says when Felicity gripes. “I brought a few shades with me. I’m not so good with the nail art, but I can try.”

“I never pictured you as a navy blue girl,” Felicity says. “It’s usually purple or red or bronze. Sometimes silver. Not that—not that I pay attention to your hands.”

But of course she does. Laurel has magnificent hands, and when she’s not in motorcycle gloves, she’s usually got the cutest rings on. Felicity has no idea where she finds them, and she’s been meaning to ask.

“My nail kit’s in that bag if you want to grab it,” Laurel says. “Take your pick.”

“What are you going to do if bad guys attack right now?”

“I’ll probably have to start over.” Laurel shrugs. “I mean, the Black Canary’s good, but not that good. Or maybe I am. Either way.”

It must be nice to have that kind of confidence. Felicity would almost resent her for it, if she hadn’t been front and center to watch Laurel grow into it.

She lets Laurel paint her nails burgundy and has to smile at the idea of a bunch of bad guys coming in and getting navy blue nail polish smeared over their faces as the Black Canary kicks their asses.

+

They avoid the dining car because they don’t want to draw attention to themselves, but Felicity’s aware that this also means the other passengers probably think they’re having non-stop sex. Which makes her want to squirm. People assuming things about her love life always has because it leads her down several rabbit trails her brain should really avoid. Words have a habit of going through her brain and coming out her mouth unchecked, so she really shouldn’t think about sex at all, honestly. Because everybody got a look at Laurel when they boarded the train and so every time she passes somebody in the corridor on the way to the bathroom, she has to wonder if there’s a knowing quality to their smiles, like, _good job bagging the really pretty one_. She used to get those looks whenever Oliver wore a tight shirt in public, but now it’s Laurel, who is her friend and technically in this venture her bodyguard, too.

It’s kind of flattering, though, because nobody looks disbelieving. Just supportive.

Of course, she doesn’t bring this up to Laurel until her friend suggests they take a shower. Together.

“People are already doing the eyebrow thing enough at me since we haven’t emerged for two meals,” Felicity says. “Also they seem really impressed that I landed you like a trout. Is co-showering really going to help with that?”

“Yes,” Laurel says.

“You don’t understand. I just used the term ‘landed you like a trout.’ Isn’t that a little demeaning?”

“We’re using their perceptions against them, it fits into our agenda.” Laurel’s gathering her toiletry kit and so with a sigh, Felicity does the same. “I’ve been getting the same looks, too, you know.”

“Y-you have?”

Laurel gives her a _duh_ look. “Also demeaning would mean a high-five for securing ‘that hot piece of ass’ or something.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Dudebro four compartments down. Don’t worry, I didn’t put him in a half-nelson, though I thought about it.” Laurel grimaces. “He looks like he’d get off on being dommed, so I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.”

Felicity chokes.

The shower stalls aren’t that big, so they have to squeeze in together. Laurel keeps true to her word, turning around while Felicity soaps herself up and washes her hair, and they slide past each other to change places. It’s probably one of the most awkward experiences of her life. She’s not attracted to Laurel, per se, okay, she’s mostly not attracted to Laurel, she’s really hot and it’s a purely human reaction, like, she’s not _dead_ or anything—

“Um, thanks?” Laurel says, and Felicity goes briefly blind and deaf.

“I was talking out loud again, huh?”

“It’s fine. It’s nice that you think I’m hot.”

“And unflappable. How is this not awkward for you?”

“I’m showering with my best friend while pretending to be married to her. It’s awkward. But we’ve got four days of this, so there’s no use making those days be uncomfortable.”

Felicity turns around to give her a baffled look, belatedly remembers they’re both naked, and turns back around with a squeak. Naked in the Foundry while dressing wounds is one thing, naked and wet and slippery in the tiny shower together is completely new and dangerous. “Really? Because you don’t look it. Like, we’re talking Oscar-level performances here.”

“Remind me to thank the little people when I make my speech,” Laurel says, laughing shakily. “When we catch up with the others, let’s skip telling them this part, as flattered as I am that you think I’m hot.”

“Deal,” Felicity says.

+

She meets Laurel’s dudebro when she’s setting the dinner tray outside their door and he’s passing by. He holds his hand up for a high-five that she doesn’t return. Felicity’s a little sad Laurel didn’t put him in a headlock.

+

Felicity usually takes the right side of the bed, but when she brings this up, Laurel shakes her head. “Mine,” she says.

“What? Why?”

“It’s closer to the door.”

“You’re taking this bodyguard thing to the next level here.”

Laurel stretches and pops her shoulders and back loudly enough to make Felicity cringe. That can’t be healthy. “I either get that side of the bed, or we stay up and take turns playing lookout.”

“Fine.” Felicity scoots over. It’s not a very big bed since the cabin’s, uh, cozy. “But I’m not kidding about the bodyguard thing. Did Oliver put you up to this?”

“Wanting you to be safe is not something Oliver has to put me up to. Plus, it’s easier for me to fight in front of you than through you if anybody unwanted comes through the door.” Laurel settles in and Felicity was right: there isn’t much room. She sleeps on her stomach, so her shoulder is pushed right into Laurel’s. Laurel startles her by poking her. “Also I just prefer this side of the bed.”

Felicity shoves her friend’s arm and turns her face the other way. “Jerk. It’s mine tomorrow night.”

“We’ll see.”

+

She has a hard time falling asleep. Part of it’s habit—she usually plays games on her phone until her eyelids droop and she misses her phone like burning—but really, she’s never slept well in strange places the first night. Laurel drops off immediately, sleeping on her side with one arm under her head, but Felicity tosses and turns for hours.

Finally, Laurel flops her free arm over her, pinning her down. “Go to _sleep_ ,” she says, and Felicity’s so shocked that she can’t move. Laurel doesn’t loosen her grip at all, so Felicity doesn’t have a choice: she falls asleep with her nose pressed into Laurel’s shoulder, and stays like that for the rest of the night.

+

They have to switch trains, which gives them a six-hour window in Salt Lake City. Rather than waiting in the train station, Laurel drags Felicity out and they catch a bus to the Mormon Temple, paying cash for everything. They both look like college students in their gap year since they’re living out of backpacks. Laurel’s got a San Francisco T-shirt on and she looks younger than she has in years. Felicity would neverhave guessed she’d be such an enthusiastic traveler, but she stops to read every plaque and pages through the brochure, nudging Felicity with her elbow or shoulder-bumping her, and this is entirely a new version of the Black Canary. She buys a disposable camera—“We can burn it if we need to.”—and insists on getting their picture taken in front of the Temple.

“Tourist,” Felicity says, nudging her back.

Laurel’s laugh has never sounded more carefree than it does now. “Duh. It’s vacation.”

“Do you think they could tell I’m Jewish?” Felicity asks as they make their way back to the train station. “I was expecting, like, lightning to strike me down.”

“Bodyguard, remember?” Laurel hands over the water bottle they’re sharing. “I would’ve jumped in front of it for you.”

“My hero,” Felicity says, and it’s not until they’re getting ready to board the train for the next leg of the journey that she realizes she hasn’t reached for the phone that’s not there for hours.

+

On the second leg of the trip, there’s no room service, so they’ll have to actually leave their room or make do with granola bars. Surprisingly, Laurel shrugs and says they should go to the sightseeing car anyway. “We’ll blend in better if we don’t seem mysterious. It works out in our favor.”

Unfortunately, their planned cover story for this leg—college roommates getting together after a couple years—doesn’t work because Felicity recognizes half of the passengers from the first part of the journey. “Married again,” she says, fiddling with the supermarket vending machine ring.

“I make a great husband,” Laurel says.

“Excuse me, you are way girlier than I am.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I did not pack nail polish. Ergo, I’m the dude.”

“Such a dude,” Laurel says, the dimple on her left cheek popping. She rests her chucks on the bannister, legs crossed at the ankle, and gazes out at the Book Cliffs they’re passing outside. “Ugh, that’s just stunning.”

Felicity has to agree. Though she knows she should be paying attention to the sweeping landscape around them—the sightseeing cart offers almost a 360 degree view with the generous windows—she keeps sneaking glances at her traveling companion. Happiness looks really good on Laurel Lance.

Unfortunately, she’s not very sneaky. Laurel catches one of her looks and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry,” she says. “4315 minutes left until you get your phone back.”

“How did you—”

“You’re not the only one that can do math in her head.” Laurel raises the disposable camera and points it toward Felicity. “Smile.”

When faced with that grin, Felicity reasons, 4315 minutes seems like a minuscule amount.

+

Before they head for the dining cart for dinner, Laurel twists her fingers together and the rings catch the light, making Felicity look up from her book. The longer they’re in the cabin, the less they speak. They’re communicating, they’re just silent about it. “You okay?” she asks.

“I think we’re going to have to sit with somebody at dinner,” Laurel says. “There’s not a lot of seating in the dining cart.”

“You love talking to people.”

“Yes, but we’re on our honeymoon. Technically. For the cover.”

“Why is that a problem?” Felicity asks, and Laurel stares at her until she gets it. “Oh. _Oh_! PDA. Right. That’s something couples on honeymoons do.”

“Excessively.” Laurel twists her hands again. “We can be an exception, if it bothers you?”

“After we didn’t leave the cabin last time and were caught showering together?” Felicity asks.

“PDA it is.”

Felicity reaches out and pokes her thigh with her toes. “I think you’ll be okay,” she says. “You used me as a teddy bear last night, consider that practice.”

“Got you to stop moving,” Laurel says under her breath, and Felicity pokes her again.

They probably oversell it at dinner, but at least they’re not like the other honeymooning couple on the train and don’t feed each other off of the other’s plate. “Nauseating,” Laurel agrees when Felicity brings it up later. “Let’s never be like that.”

Felicity decides not to mention that they’re not actually together. Laurel probably didn’t even notice her slip of the tongue.

+

She doesn’t get the right side of the bed again that night. She tries, but apparently Laurel Lance is not ticklish.

She’s oddly disappointed over this discovery. Laurel throws an arm over Felicity’s back, snuggles in, and falls asleep. Felicity figures they’ll be leaving this part out when they tell the team about the trip, too.

+

Their stopover in Denver is only for a couple of hours. Laurel buys postcards at the kiosk in Union Station and another disposable camera since she’s used up all the film in the first one. There aren’t any messages waiting for them at the drop-point they set up before they left, which is a grim message: Cluemaster is still at large.

“C’mon,” Laurel says when Felicity feels her lips thin. “I’ll buy you some pancakes to cheer you up.”

“Maybe you _are_ the dude,” Felicity says, attempting a smile. It’s chilly in Denver, so Laurel’s in flannel and one of Roy’s old snapbacks, her outfit perfect even though they’re living out of backpacks in a claustrophobic train compartment. Felicity’s hair has grown curly in a way she hasn’t let it for years, not even when she was traveling with Oliver. “Also, how have I never noticed how perpetually hungry you are?”

“Justice burns calories.”

“And so does train travel?”

“I got in a small workout before you woke up.”

“Of course you did.” But it makes Felicity want to laugh. She grabs Laurel’s hand, figuring there are probably other passengers around. “You vigilantes and your lifelong quest to make me feel lazy.”

“Pancakes will make you feel better,” Laurel says, tugging Felicity along.

+

Nebraska is _incredibly_ boring.

It’s also her favorite because Laurel spends the afternoon napping with her head on Felicity’s thigh and Felicity finishes an entire book in one sitting. She can’t remember the last time that happened. She really should put her phone down more often, she thinks, playing with Laurel’s hair. It’s so amazingly soft.

+

Laurel wakes up in Iowa with a growling stomach, but they don’t go to the dining cart. In fact, she seems reluctant to move. “You think the others are okay?” Felicity asks as Laurel blinks owlishly. “It’s kind of weird to be trapped in this bubble without any news, but it’s…”

“Nice?” Laurel asks, yawning.

“Am I horrible for thinking that?”

“We’re on vacation.”

“We’re on the run.”

“Nothing says we can’t multitask. I’m choosing to see it as a vacation. Otherwise I’ll have to face certain realities about my life and that’s a little depressing. Like the fact that I haven’t taken a vacation in years, and it’s been even longer since I took a vacation with somebody else. And no, I don’t count a fake spa visit to Nanda Parbat, as that wound up with Nyssa in prison.”

It’s the most honest Felicity’s ever heard her. “Is that why you’ve been touristing it up?”

“I know it’s not real. But it’s nice to pretend.”

She has no idea what compels her, but Felicity leans over and kisses Laurel’s forehead. “Hey, it’s not all pretend. We really did go do the most anti-Jewish thing we possibly could in Salt Lake City. Pure tourism right there.”

She feels Laurel’s shoulders shake with laughter, and considers it a win. Outside, Iowa rolls onward, each mile more boring than the next, but inside, Laurel’s grinning. “1810 minutes of pure tourism left,” Laurel says.

Felicity has a feeling she’s going to enjoy every one.

+

They eat in the dining car with a table to themselves. Felicity nearly snorts water out her nose when Laurel does an uncanny impression of Roy trying to sneak out of her apartment without getting caught. They linger over dessert even though Felicity knows they should call it an early night since the train will be arriving in Chicago at three a.m. But whatever, it’s vacation.

Their bunk on this part of the journey has a shower—and bunk beds, which Felicity’s really disappointed about—so Laurel goes first. When Felicity emerges, she finds her friend sitting on the lower berth, fiddling with her rings again. “Is something wrong?”

Laurel shakes her head. “Top or bottom?” she asks, and Felicity chokes. The eyebrow goes up again. “Somebody’s mind is in the gutter. I was talking about the beds.”

“I-I know that. Um, it doesn’t matter to me. And honestly, we’re going to be in Chicago in—” Felicity grabs Laurel’s wrist and checks her watch. “Four hours.”

“Don’t you mean 240 minutes?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Plenty of time for a nap.”

“I’ll just be cranky if I do that. I’ll read. You can take the top.”

“I slept all afternoon.” Laurel scoots over to give Felicity room on the bottom berth. She picks up the book Felicity finished that afternoon and thumbs through it. She smells like the complimentary soap in the shower stall, the same Felicity herself used, and it’s distracting. Is there something like Stockholm Syndrome, but for proximity? Because Felicity has always thought her friend is really pretty, but now she’s trapped in the details she never noticed.

When she starts yawning, Laurel tugs her down so she can curl up on the couch, head in Laurel’s lap. She drifts off to sleep thinking that she hasn’t heard a page turn in awhile.

+

They arrive at Union Station early, or so Laurel tells her when she shakes Felicity awake. She can feel the tension running up and down Laurel’s arm as they disembark, but there aren’t any ninjas waiting for them on the platform. Laurel grabs her hand as they walk through the sleepy crowd.

They spot the man at the same time and Laurel’s grip tightens to a vise. He’s in a suit, holding up a sign with “Dearden” on it, which is the sign from the team that Cluemaster’s gone and they can get back in touch. Felicity’s first feeling should be relief, but disappointment floods in like a tangible force.

They’re supposed to have another day. More, actually.

“Guess that’s that,” she says, trying to sound cheerful. “Vacation’s over.”

But Laurel stops in the middle of the platform (upsetting the couple behind them). “Not just yet,” she says.

“What are you—” It’s all Felicity manages to get out before Laurel swoops in and kisses her.

It catches her off-guard, but Felicity likes to think she’s pretty fast on her feet. Laurel’s lips are so damn soft, and she’s cupping Felicity’s cheek, fingers trembling. When she goes pull away, though, Felicity grabs the straps of her backpack and holds her in place, changing the angle of the kiss. She might not get this opportunity again, and she never wants it to end. A train station in Chicago at 3 a.m. isn’t the best place for a makeout session, but _god_ she is a good kisser.

Laurel does eventually step back, but she’s still framing Felicity’s face with her hands. “Wow,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “I…was going to apologize. I just thought—it’s vacation and it would kill me not do that just once—”

“Don’t apologize. I am a-okay with everything that just happened. Only better than a-okay. Way better. So much better.”

Laurel’s smile should not be tinged with that much sadness. “But it’s just a vacation thing?”

“I have no idea.” Felicity takes a long breath and looks over Laurel’s shoulder—the crowds are just kind of parting for them, which is oddly nice of them—at the man with the sign. “Actually, scratch that, I do have an idea. Stay here.”

She trots over to the driver and introduces herself, and just like she suspected, he’s got burner phones for them. Felicity only takes one, opens it, and sends out a mass text. Less than a minute later, she hands the phone over and heads back to Laurel, who has her head tilted and her hands stuffed into her pockets.

“What was that?” Laurel asks, voice neutral.

“We still have something like 1500 minutes of vacation left. The others can deal without us for the rest of it. Or longer, really. I don’t mind if it’s longer.” She grabs Laurel’s hand and tugs. There’s bound to be a hotel around here somewhere that they can crash until their train leaves that afternoon.

A smile pokes at the corner of Laurel’s lips. “Well, if you say so.”

+

Hours later, they watch the south slowly pass by the giant picture window in their compartment. Laurel’s leaning back against her, and Felicity can’t stop playing with her hair, but Laurel doesn’t seem to mind. She’s painting her nails again and it’s familiar and exhilarating and perfect. They’ll be in Coast City soon and Felicity’s really looking forward to beaches, even though she knows she’ll have to check her phone again eventually. She can only turn the world off for so long, as much as she’d like to pretend it doesn’t exist outside of this train compartment.

Laurel clears her throat. “I do have one question,” she says, bumping her knee against Felicity’s calf.

“Hmm?”

“How are we getting back to Star City?”

Felicity grins. It’s been five thousand minutes since she last said this, but… “Haven’t you heard? I have a jet.”


End file.
